


Whiplash

by Summer_Blues



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Not completely canon, Reader-Insert, past trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-23 22:52:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/932036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Summer_Blues/pseuds/Summer_Blues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six years of hating his guts, and three months of having to get him back into shape.  A lot can change in just a little time.</p><p>Rating and tags subject to change for later chapters!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Canceled

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! I'm Summer_Blues and this is my first work here! Feel free to criticize it all you want, I'm open to all comments. Before you read this story, I have a couple of notes I'd like to make about it.
> 
> 1: Yes, this is a reader-insert. If you don't like it, then don't read it. I wrote like this because I know there are people out there to whom this kind of story appeals. Please don't critique it because of that reason.
> 
> 2: I have written the reader-chan with flaws. As much as I know we all want to be perfect, it's against my nature to write using Mary Sue-esque characters. Our reader here has a problem with grudges and has some minor anger-issues. This is done on purpose for future character development.
> 
> 3: I do leave you with cliffhangers. However, they will be tied up in later chapters, if I decide this project isn't a bust. If you have any questions leave a comment!
> 
> 4: I don't own anything in this work except my Original Characters, so this serves as my disclaimer.
> 
> Please enjoy this story!

“I'm losing my vacation?!”

You stand up from your chair, fists clenched and eyes wide. On the desk before you, your paycheck sits untouched and papers asking for a temporary leave lay neatly stacked.

“I'm sorry, Miss (Name). But we cannot afford to lose you in a time like this.” Marshall Pentecost paces away from the desk and from you. 

“But, sir!” you exclaim. “You know how hard I've been working for this! My students too! This trip has been in planning for maybe two years now!” Working as a trainer for the Rangers of the PPDC isn't the kind of job that rakes in money for vacation easily. 

Pentecost sighs, and you shut your mouth. _Did I make him angry?_ you wonder. A sigh from him may very well translate to _Get out of my sight, I'm getting tired of your shit._

“Miss (Name), I know very well how long you and your students have prepared for this, and I know that you must be extremely disappointed right now.”

You want to snort. Disappointed? More like extremely pissed off. Losing vacation means not only losing a major break but having to put up with six whiny teenagers once they find out.

But you're talking to Marshall Pentecost, so you don't.

“Sir, the term 'grounded' comes to mind. Please don't tell me this is because of a potential Kaiju threat... I can handle myself, and the kids too.” When the Marshall shakes his head you're bewildered, but no less irritated.

“Perhaps there will be another time for you to take the children out for a rest, but I will need you to remain here for the next three months.” He pauses his pacing in front of the giant window that overlooks the Hong Kong Shatterdome, the only real window you've ever seen in this giant place of concrete and steel.

“Three months, sir? Why three months?” And why now? you want to ask. Surely there are another three months you could remain here.

Then again, the Marshall does everything for a reason, and you figure he is going to keep you here for a good reason too. 

“Sir, are you sure you're not grounding me? Three months is an awfully long time and I have nothing to do except minimal training for the crews...”

Pentecost sighs again and continues his walking. “You've seen it, haven't you? The progress on the Mark III restoration project.”

“Well, yes, sir, the project led by Miss Mori. Gipsy Danger. But what does that have to do with me staying—”

“We're bringing in her old pilot.” The Marshall turns to face you and looks you right in the eyes. You feel your own eyes widen farther than they ever have before.

There's only one man who he could be talking about; your initial shock is replaced by incredulity, and then fury.

“You're bringing back _Raleigh Becket_?!” There's a silence that hangs in the air for a moment, almost palpable. Two sides of a conversation come to a halt, your side burning with anger.

Something drips on the floor; both you and Pentecost look down to see what it is.

You're gripping your right fist so tight you're bleeding. _That escalated quickly._

You tear your gaze away from the blood and shove your hand behind your back. “ _Why_ would you bring _him_ back?!” you hiss, eyes narrowing.

“Because he's the only surviving Mark III pilot, Miss (Name).”

 _That isn't a good excuse!_ You want to spit out. _He's a reckless, cock, arrogant—_

You stop before that thought ends.

“He fell off the map _five years ago_ ; how the hell do you expect to find him now?” is what you exclaim instead.

A sharp look from the Marshall makes you hold your tongue. _Shit,_ you think, _I lost my cool..._

You're ready for the declaration of insubordination. Yet you stand there and face off the Marshall, a man whose power is above yours but whose determination you can match. 

“We've followed Becket since he left,” Stacker says tersely. “He's currently working on the Coastal Wall project.”

 _That_ extracts a snort from you, even though you try to hold it in. From what you've heard, Becket was a cocky bastard who liked risks and fighting, so the wall seems too humble and almost ironic for a person like him. But more than this irony, you know it's the Wall project that has been draining funds for the Jaeger program and that's what really makes you snort.

“Miss (Name), show some respect. He lost his brother in the last time he piloted and he was a broken soldier after that,” scolds Pentecost. “You know how that feels, so don't mock his choices.”

 _Ouch._ You swallow, trying to force down memories that Pentecost is obviously trying to get you to think on. It doesn't make you think any better of Becket, though.

“He hasn't been active for five years, as you know, so we're calling him back three months before the Mark III restoration project is complete so he can get back into the feel of fighting.” He looks very pointedly at you and your jaw drops.

You're finally putting the dots together.

 _Oh,_ no, _he is not going to ask me to train him, there is no way—_

“I'm going to have to ask you to get him back into shape, Miss (Name). There is nobody who can teach our pilots in any way that you can, and your tutelage has kept our finest pilots alive.” 

He's referencing the remaining pilots of the last few Jaegers: Crimson Typhoon and the Wei triplets, Cherno Alpha and the Kaidonovskys, and Striker Eureka and the Hansens.

Well, one of the Hansens anyway.

“Sir,” you say in a strangled voice, trying to choke down your fury. “I'm not sure that I'll be fully capable of doing that...”

You're gripping your hand again, and the blood is flowing out from between your fingers. 

The Marshall approaches you; when he stops, he's close enough to see the tears of anger burning in your eyes. You've all but forgotten your vacation by now.

“Miss (Name), I know it is going to be hard for you. But you must retrain him. We were barely able to get our hands on Gipsy Danger as it is. Don't let our efforts go to waste.”

“I...” You lose the ability to speak, and your look down, ashamed. You don't want to be the downfall of the Mark III project, and perhaps the downfall of humankind, if Gipsy Danger turns out to be a winning piece. 

But even you have your personal biases. 

You don't want to train the man who let your own brother _die_ six years ago. 

“Don't let personal issues get in the way,” the Marshall urges you. 

You tremble viciously.

 _It_ had _to be Gipsy Danger they brought back, didn't it? And Becket with it._

That man and his copilot brother have haunted your dreams for six years now, filling you up with a grudge you never thought you could contain. Now Marshall Pentecost is asking you to return the remaining Ranger to full fighting glory, _you_.

You don't feel elated like you should. 

_Shove aside your grudges, (Name),_ is the silent message you are being given. _It is time for you to move on, to learn something of your own._

The word _no_ lies warm on the tip of your tongue. 

It's gone quiet in the room. The Marshall does not move, waiting for you to tell him you will or won't help train Raleigh Becket.

Really, though. What else can you say but yes?

Humankind or your sanity.

“I'll do it,” you say through gritted teeth. “I'll do it.”


	2. Trapped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really happy that this got hits at all and some of you guys even left kudos!! Thanks!! 
> 
> Thank you CloudySky for leaving a comment on my first chapter! I hope you like this one too!
> 
> (Disclaimer) I don't own anything but my OC's! You meet them-most of them-this chapter!
> 
> Enjoy!

It's not natural for you to storm through the halls of the Hong Kong Shatterdome, so as you march angrily out of the Marshall's office, everyone in the walkways parts to let you through.

The journey back to your room is winding: left, right, right, left again. Past the research facility, where Newt Geiszler is probably working away at some Kaiju guts and Hermann Gottlieb is writing on his giant blackboard. 

Another left, one more right, and then you've reached the giant door to your shared quarters with your students. You ignore the trail of little red droplets on the floors, and the warm liquid seeping from your palm.

You throw the metal door open as best you can before slamming it shut. From different spots around the main room, four faces look up in greeting. 

Evan and Caterina must be out again, you realize, since there should be six faces and not just four.

“Well? How did it go, (Name)?” asks a voice from the center of the room. 

It's Shiki, a fifteen-year-old girl you found scavenging the deserted streets of Tokyo roughly three years back. She's one of your top students, as well as an accomplished tech, which makes her useful here in the Shatterdome. Right now, she's looking over a Jaeger design on one of the couches in the center of the room. 

“Don't even get me started,” you groan, covering up your face with one hand and resting the other on the closed door.

“What? What happened?” She puts down her plans. Everyone in the room stops what they're doing and looks at you.

“Vacation is a no-go,” you say. You leave your spot by the door and go to collapse on one of the other couches in the room, balling your hands into fists and holding them close to your chest. “Marshall needs me for some important work over the next few months.”

“Bullshit!” spits another voice; Luka, a boy from America who lost his parents in the Yamarashi attack in 2017. He's seventeen now, and also spends a lot of time analyzing Jaeger functions, though he's more into designing and putting together the mechs than fixing them. “He knows how hard you've worked for this. How hard we've all worked!”

“Luka, watch it,” you chastise halfheartedly. “That's the Marshall you're talking about.” Luka grunts something inaudible and shuffles over to you on the couch. He plops down by your feet and doesn't speak again.

“That's not everything, though,” Shiki observes. “You're upset about something else, aren't you?”

Leave it to her to figure it out, you grumble inwardly. Shiki's too observant for her own good sometimes. 

“I don't wanna talk about it,” is your reply. You turn over on the couch so your back is facing everyone else. “Shitty day, basically.”

“Oh,” say the other three teenagers.

“Where's Evan and Caterina?” you ask.

“Evan's at LOCCENT again. They're letting him take command for a run by Cherno Alpha,” Arturo tells you. “He's really excited.”

“Really? Good for him.”

Arturo laughs a little bit. “You sound so genuine,” he jokes, before joining your couch and sitting on the armrest by your head. Seventeen-year-old Arturo, born and raised until he was nine in Peru, was separated from his family as they fled from a Kaiju attack. He's been with you for four years now, and finds great interest in science, particularly Kaiju biology.

You're a little worried that he might turn out like Newt, but you're not going to stop him from doing what he likes.

“Well you'd be feeling snarky too if you just came back from where I was,” you snort. “So where's Caterina, then?”

“Dunno. Probably hanging around a Drivesuit room, or something.”

“Figures,” you mutter.

“You're bleeding,” Arturo points out. He's noticed the drops of blood on the floor that followed  
you in. “Where?”

“My hand. Not a problem.”

“You know, you probably should get that checked in medical.” Arturo reaches for your hand and you hide it beneath you. “C'mon, (Name), you told us yourself that if you're bleeding that much,   
you need to have it checked out.”

“Smartass,” you say. “I'm fine.”

“You need some time alone?” asks Shiki.

“That would probably be the best, yeah.”

“Okay, then. We'll call you out in a couple of hours, for dinner.” You hear the sound of crinkling paper and assume Shiki's picked up her Jaeger plans again. 

“Sounds great. Go back to whatever the hell you were doing,” you say, getting up and waving your hand at the other three boys in the room. 

A relative mumble fills the air and they slowly gravitate back to what they were focused on before your return. The only boy who hasn't spoken to you yet, Brandon, approaches you before you reach your bedroom door. 

“Promise you'll tell me everything that happened later?” he whispers to you.

You can't help the sigh that escapes from your lips. “Maybe, Brandon. I don't know. I haven't Drifted with you yet, so you might not get it. It's got plenty to do with my past and you won't understand until you see it—feel it—yourself.”

Brandon's face falls a little, and you bite your lip. “Maybe,” you say, before entering your room.

Once you're alone, you slump against the wall, all the way to the floor.

“Shitty day indeed,” you rasp aloud to no one. 

You need to get your mind off of Becket, off of your grudge, hell, off of whatever you're thinking about right now, because it's making you feel awful. 

_What now? I guess I could take a shower..._

You comply with that thought, grabbing some clean clothes from your closet/locker thing and stepping into the en suite bathroom. You wash under warm water for ten minutes, wishing the warmth of the steam could make you relax a little more than it does, and scrubbing the blood off of your hand. It's stopped bleeding by now but it stings pretty badly.

The steam remains in the air as you dry off and redress, and you bandage up your hand using the roll from your first aid kit in your cabinet. It stings with every layer added; before heading out you take a painkiller pill as well, and wait for the effects of that to set in.

When you leave the bathroom, a towel wrapped around your neck underneath your hair, you stand and stare at your room blankly. 

_Hmm...._

Paperwork! You must have some paperwork to do, so you scramble up from the floor and speed over to your desk, flip open your laptop and try to find something to do.

Maybe the Rangers have stuff for me to look over...

Those are the reports you check for first, opening up your inbox and searching for new files.

All the Rangers check out fine; they've turned in their training logs for today, filled to your requirements with their diet, hours spent combat training, sleep schedule, and Drift times, if any. You sigh. They're diligent enough about keeping up with your expectations, and this time their diligence has left you empty-handed for things to finish or fiddle around with.

After idling about your email some more, your decide that you should update your other students' files, 'other students' being the six that share this little prefecture of yours.

Alphabetical order, you decide, and then you're furiously typing away at their documents.

_Name: Evan James_  
Age: 19  
DOB: May 17 2006, Portland, Oregon, USA  
Current Position: Student under (Last Name)  
Predicted Position: LOCCENT Operator  
Drift Testing Completed?: Yes  
Drift Testing Score: 83/100  
Ranger Potential?: No  
Aptitude Test Results: LOCCENT Operator, Ranger Trainer  
… 

The list goes on like this for the others, too, accompanied by their pictures and medical information.

_Name: Luka Kaiser_  
Age: 17  
DOB: October 9 2008, Los Angeles, CA, USA  
Current Position: Student under (Last Name)  
Predicted Position: Jaeger Technician  
Drift Testing Completed?: Yes  
Drift Testing Score: 87/100  
Ranger Potential?: No  
Aptitude Test Results: Jaeger Technician, Jaeger Design  
… 

_Name: Brandon Martin_  
Age: 14  
DOB: June 10 2011, Sydney, AU  
Current Position: Student under (Last Name)  
Predicted Position: Unknown  
Drift Testing Completed?: No  
Drift Testing Score: N/A  
Ranger Potential?: N/A  
Aptitude Test Results: N/A  
… 

Your fingers hesitate as you type up Brandon's page. Brandon is like your kid brother, really. Especially since you gave him the blood for a blood transfusion he desperately needed after a Kaiju attack on Australia three years ago. 

A brother...

_Shit. I wasn't supposed to think about that._ Brothers are what you're trying not to think about right now. You stop working on Brandon and move on to Arturo.

_Name: Arturo Mendoza_  
Age: 17  
DOB: January 27 2008, City Unknown, PE  
Current Position: Student under (Last Name)  
Predicted Position: Research Division  
Drift Testing Completed?: Yes  
Drift Testing Score: 67/100  
Ranger Potential?: No  
Aptitude Test Results: Research Division, Kaiju Biologist  
… 

 

_Name: Shiki Nomura_  
Age: 15  
DOB: October 28 2010, Tokyo, JP  
Current Position: Student under (Last Name)  
Predicted Position: Unknown  
Drift Testing Completed?: No  
Drift Testing Score: N/A  
Ranger Potential?: N/A  
Aptitude Test Results: N/A  
… 

Shiki's another blank book to you. No Drift testing, just like Brandon. No aptitude testing yet, either...

_No. Don't think about Brandon._

You keep working.

_Name: Caterina Vargas_  
Age: 18  
DOB: February 4 2007, Tokyo, JP  
Current Position: Student under (Last Name)  
Predicted Position: Ranger Candidate  
Drift Testing Completed?: Yes  
Drift Testing Score: 97/100  
Ranger Potential?: Yes  
Aptitude Test Results: Ranger, Ranger Trainer  
… 

You finish Caterina's page only half an hour after starting on Evan's. _There was nothing really left to update_ , you sigh in your head. _Just me trying to find something to do._

_Ugh._ Your hand is stinging again. 

Now there's nothing really left. You save all the files again, just to be careful, and close your laptop. You get up and stretch, saunter around your room for a bit, then come to a stop by your bed. A moment later, you flop down on it, lying in prone for a few minutes.

With nothing left to occupy your mind, thoughts of Becket and your brother and San Diego fill your mind. As hard as your try to fight it, you can't. You grab your pillow and shove your face in it, biting down on it as you scream in frustration.

You're lucky the walls are sound-proofed; the pillow doesn't muffle your cry as well as you thought it would.

A sob breaks its way out of your lungs and you clutch the pillow even tighter. This puts your hand in agony, but you don't care. You do your best to hold back your memories, good and bad.

_GO AWAY GO AWAY GO AWAY! I'M DONE! LEAVE ME ALONE!_

But memories do not obey you; they never have, and so instead of receding they surge at you and overpower your attempts to forget.

In your mind, you scream, as you feel like you're being sucked down in your remembrance. It's like being back in the Drift.

That's your last thought before you stop thinking completely.

_Ash is falling like snow Caleb where are you_

_Oh my God there's a Kaiju here_

_They're bringing back Becket no way in hell!_

_Caleb where are you_

“(NAME)!!!”

_Caleb Caleb Caleb_

_where's a jaeger we need a jaeger_

_Streets are collapsing inward_

Sir, I'm not sure if I'm fully capable of doing that...

_Caleb listen to my voice I'll find you Caleb_

_Agony my leg my ankle can't moveNO I need to get to him_

Where's mom, (Name)?

Gone. Don't worry, I'll be your mom from now on.

_I won't do it I can't do it I won't train Becket_

_Found a little boy on the streets in Sydney; almost dead. Bring him back with me and train him like everyone else._

Brandon? Brandon? 

_Caleb_

_you're my brother, Caleb, my baby brother iwon'tletyoudie_

Brandon? I'm (Name), I'm here to take you with me to the Shatterdome...

_Caleb baby where'd you go_

Cool, (Name)! We're like brother and sister now! You even gave me a blood transfusion!

_You aren't Caleb_

_it's becket's fault_

_he was too late_

CALEB NO CALEB YOU CAN'T DIE 

DON'T LEAVE ME HERE

I'LL BE ALONE WITHOUT YOU

_Caleb_

_why is there a shard of glass sticking out of you_

_blood_

We're bringing in her old pilot

_so much blood_

Sing...me a song...

_tears and blood_

I want...to hear you sing before...I die....

_don't say that_

_My voice hurts_

_Caleb Caleb no_

_the Kaiju killed you_

_Becket_

(Name)

_Brandon is just like Caleb, quiet and reserved but very sweet._

_He wants to be a pilot too._

_YOU AREN'T CALEB_

_The KaijuBeckets killed you_

_Becket_

(Name)!

_I can't forgive_

_I'm sorry_

“(Name)!”

You gasp in air, and feel yourself return to reality. Brandon is grabbing your arm and looking at you, concern obvious in his eyes. “Were you having a nightmare?”

“Uh, I...” you struggle up into sitting position. “I dunno. Why?”

“You were all tightened up into a ball and you were crying and whimpering,” Brandon says, seeing through your lie easily.

You blush and look down. “Was I that loud? You shouldn't have been able to hear me from outside...”

“Well, Arturo and Luka felt your, um, angst, I guess, through the Drift hangover.” 

You moan internally. Drifting with your students, though a necessity, is often more trouble than it's worth.

“So they sent you in for me?”

“No, actually, something arrived here for you and I was going to bring it to you...” Brandon shifts his hands and puts something papery in your lap. “I don't know what it is.”

Seeing Brandon like this makes you think of Caleb, and tears well up in your eyes. You stifle a sniff. “Thanks, Brandon,” you say with a small smile. He smiles a little bit back at you but his face falls when he see your tears.

“Arturo wasn't kidding when he said you were bummed, huh?” he murmurs. He gives you a brief hug before getting up to go. “We'll all be outside. Oh, Caterina's back. She says hi.”

“Say hi for me, then,” you say as he leaves, closing the door behind him. When he's gone you let yourself bawl. 

Brandon's so much like your dead brother, Caleb. Being with him hurts just as much as it heals. And that's part of the reason you're so reluctant to tell him why you feel terrible. 

You cry for a good ten minutes before you get a hold on yourself, and, reduced to hiccups, you look over the papers Brandon dropped off.

They're enclosed in a manila folder and stamped with your first and last name in red. You undo the flap at the top and slide its contents out onto your bed. 

With an exasperated sigh, you drop the manila folder.

The papers are all of Raleigh Becket's files from his time in the PPDC and his picture is staring you right in the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a note, when reader-chan is remembering, it's similar to Drifting, only with a select few of her memories. Italicized words are memories of her thoughts and events that have happened/are happening, and regular words are dialogue from her memories.
> 
> Also, the little segments of the students' files are not everything that's on there! I just gave basic information so you can learn a little more about them.


	3. Comforted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daily updates, daily updates.... Pay attention to the things reader-chan likes! 
> 
> ~~chuck u little~~
> 
> I don't anything but them.
> 
> Enjoy!!!

You join everyone in the mess hall three hours later, but you don't feel very hungry.

“—and then I got to activate the neural handshake!” Evan says through mouthfuls of mashed potatoes. He swallows quickly and continues. “I think that's the greatest I've felt in a while, y'know? Really thrilling to do something you've dreamed about for, like, forever.”

“Slow down, genius, you're gonna choke.” Luka claps the older boy on the back and Evan gags. “See?”

Laughter erupts from the teenagers around you; the only silent ones are you and Arturo, who eats his meal right across from you. 

He'd attempted to make conversation with you when you first sat down at your regular spot. 

“Eating should make you feel better,” he'd said, placing a tray gingerly in front of you.

“Not this time,” you'd replied. After that, he'd stayed quiet, no doubt feeling the waves of _anger, confusion,_ and _sorrow_ that rolled off of you as you picked away at your food. 

“I'm done,” you announce, and push your food away from you before rising to leave. Five heads look up at you; Arturo keeps his face down. 

“But (Name), you haven't touched your food,” says Caterina. “It's grilled chicken tonight; you always finish everything off.”

“I ate,” you protest. “I ate a little.”

“Your 'little' is more like eating the first millimeter of everything,” remarks Luka.

“I ate, and I'm done now,” you say.

Caterina sighs and puts her fork down. “Ar you still upset?” You don't reply. “Oh, it's just a vacation, (Name), we can go some other time.”

“It's not the vacation, Caterina.” You step over your seat and turn to leave. “I'll be in the Kwoon if you need me.”

The six understand the hidden meaning of your message. You were telling them you had important things to discuss with them, and the Kwoon meant it was important, because that was you private place after hours in the Shatterdome. They feel your sense of urgency, and beneath that your muddle of fury, unhappiness, and panicked uncertainty. 

“Finish your meal,” you say finally, before shoving your hands in the pockets of your jacket and trudging off to the Kwoon.

You almost reach the exit when you hear it.

“Oi! (Last Name)!”

Wonderful, you growl to yourself. You know that voice. “The hell do you want, Hansen?” you say, raising your voice as you pass Striker Eureka's table. The younger Hansen—Chuck—grins at you and waves you over.

You roll your eyes and huff. “I'm busy. What do you want?”

“Heard you were gettin' saddled with another one of us,” he jeers. “What're your plans for the new guy?”

He's talking about Becket. There's nobody else he could mean. And of course he would know, he's a Ranger himself. You ball your fists instinctively, but uncurl them when pain lances up your right arm.

“Don't have any yet, Ranger,” you shrug, trying to hide your _angerpainsorrow_ in the simple gesture. 

Getting saddled, huh? First time he's ever said something right to me.

“Sucks that you're gonna have to deal with a has-been like 'im. I pity ya.”

You have to bite your lip to stop your retort of “Yes, you should.” Instead you shrug again and walk away without another word.

When you reach the Kwoon, it's empty. Nobody will come here after seven PM but you and any students you happen to invite; your own personal request to the Marshall.

The first thing you do is tear your jacket off and throw it to the ground. It lands back-up, with the letters PPDC printed in bold yellow in the center. 

Then you kick off your boots and undo your hair, which you always put up before dinner—a force of habit, you assume. Since there's nobody else here, you decide you'll warm up. And after some thought, you figure, _Why not build a routine for Becket now? He'll be here in two days, after all._

Thinking back on his files, he's strong and a very skilled fighter. Not extremely fast, but a rapid thinker, one who doesn't follow rules.

_Doesn't follow rules. Well, Becket, did you follow the rules the day my brother died?_

_Stop it!_ You halt your attack on him. _We don't talk about brothers_

Both sides of your argument struggle to occupy your brain, and the side that's hating on the Becket almost wins.

 _Whatever. I'll evaluate him in a few days._ You shake your head and think about routines.

He's unconventional, you note. He thinks outside of the box.

You do a couple of handsprings, thinking over how this should be tested.

Combat techniques mean little to him, so you smile as you make up a test that will make him think hard. 

_Pit him against an opponent_ (preferably yourself) _and make the requirement that he only attack and defend using standard combat techniques. The opponent is allowed to use all forms of combat, including unconventional styles. This forces him to think outside of the box but using tools from inside it to defeat a relatively unpredictable enemy_. 

Like every Kaiju ever.

This is just one of many tests that your brain builds up as you warm up alone. And soon it takes over your conscience. You're able to tune out the world as you weave together the plans for this new student. You even forget that the student is Becket, lost to the whims of creating his own agenda.

You don't even realize you're doing walking handstands until a voice interrupts you.

“Your face is getting red. How long have you been doing that?”

“Argh!” Taken by surprise, you tumble forward and land on your rear. The padded floor of the Kwoon does little to ease the shock your nerves angrily send you. “What the hell, Luka?” 

“Sorry,” he replies, though he sounds as far from sorry as it gets. “What were you thinking about this time?”

“A routine,” you say through gritted teeth. _Whose routine again?_ You rub your sore bottom. 

_Oh, yeah. Becket's._ And you feel the thought of his name making you frown.

“For who? You obviously don't like 'em, whoever it is,” says Luka, stripping down to just his tank top and pants. He comes to join you, sitting a few feet away from you on the floor of the Kwoon.

“I'll explain in a minute. Where's everyone else?” 

“Caterina's almost here. I ditched her when she started chatting up one of the Wei guys. Brandon's with Evan; they were still eating when I left, and Shiki was cleaning up when I left too. Arturo disappeared not too long after you did.”

“Huh.” You don't know what's up with Arturo; of the four students you've Drifted with, all of whom no doubt feel your emotion regularly, he seems to be the most affected by your recent predicament. For a moment you try to find his connection to you in your mind, but you can't; you get the feeling he's locking you out on purpose.

“Any clue why?”

“Nope. He'll be okay, I guess.” You hope he will be. Arturo is one of your kindest, most reliable students. It will be upsetting if he's really feeling down. You try again to find him, but again you're met by a strong barrier that blocks out his mind. 

It's not uncommon for your students to drift away a little bit after their testing (no pun intended) and normally you block out their emotional feeds so your head is only filled with you, but Arturo is pulling away much farther than you expected. 

You don't have time to think any more on it as Caterina arrives with Shiki in tow. They greet you and Luka, before you set them through a series of combat maneuvers to keep them busy as you put together a little explanation of what happened today. Luka gets up and joins them, so you are left alone on the floor, pondering and planning your words.

Evan and Brandon appear perhaps ten minutes later, puffing and apologizing for being late. You dismiss the apologies and tell them to go practice with the others.

Arturo is even later, ten minutes after Evan and Brandon arrive. He says nothing to anybody, only goes to spar with Evan in a one-on-one match after removing his shoes and over shirt. 

It's just a little bit longer until your mind's made up. You call them from their fighting and motion for them to sit in a semi-circle around you. As they get settled, you comment on Brandon's kick techniques, compliment Evan's dodging, and correct Shiki's posture. When they stop shuffling and sit quietly, staring at you, you know it's time to begin.

“I'm sure you guys want to know what happened with the Marshall earlier,” you say softly. And this time you don't block out the four presences in your head, as they complain about the shock of emotion you'd given them earlier, and present concern for your tussled state of mind.

“It's true, we're losing the vacation. And yeah, I'm not real happy about it either,” you say. You pick up your still-bandaged hand from the floor and cradle it in your lap. “But you were right, Shiki; that's not all of it.”

A barrage of guesses fills your mind; _were you demoted? Did someone we know get into trouble? Is something wrong with the Rangers? Are we in danger?_

The voices probe at your memories to see what it really is but you choose then to shut them out. “Guys, stop it,” you complain. “Not in front of Shiki and Brandon.” You glare at the four eldest students, who look away awkwardly.

“What do you mean?” asks Shiki, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” you tell her. “Well, you'll learn one day. But that's not the point.”

Shiki huffs loudly, looking ready to say something but relents.

With hesitation thick in your voice, you tell them everything. 

You tell them about Becket, and how he'll be here in two days.

You tell Shiki and Brandon, who have never Drifted with you before, about your brother, Caleb, and how he died in a Kaiju attack in San Diego in 2019, and that the Jaeger that took the Kaiju down was Gipsy Danger. You don't say anything about how Brandon reminds you of Caleb, though.

You tell them how you are still bitter about his death because you believe—no, you _know_ —that Gipsy Danger was, in part, responsible for Caleb's death. You're not sure exactly how; your memories of that day are still as fucked up as ever, but you know he died because of something Gipsy Danger did or didn't do.

They remain quiet the entire time. Not once does a voice appear in your head, asking you a private question. Nobody pauses you for clarification. They just let you talk, and tear up, and clench your teeth in anger, but never speak themselves.

And you're grateful that you have these guys to help you through this. They're all different, and some of them a bit headstrong, but all of them are understanding and patient with you. 

By the time you've finished, you've shed a few tears, and your hand stings again. 

There's a long quiet period after you finish, the air tense with a mix of emotions. You sniff and wipe at your eyes one last time.

“Thanks, guys. I'm sorry I shoved this all on you; I don't want you to worry.”

No one speaks, though you know that means they don't mind your outward expression of Becket's impending arrival. It makes you a little bit more emotional, this time a little more happy, and you break a small, small smile at them.

“You could have told us right away,” says Luka. Blunt and to the point.

“Luka, that would have been even harder for her. She was feeling even worse earlier,” scolds Caterina. 

“She's twenty-four; let her speak for herself,” Luka argues back. You laugh; a breathy laugh, but a laugh no less. Banter always makes you feel better.

“Twenty- _five_ soon,” corrects Shiki. “Her birthday—your birthday, I mean, is coming up soon, right?”

You know she's trying to steer you away from the topic you just discussed. So you follow her, because you do want to forget about it all, even if only for a little bit. 

“A month and fifteen days,” you say, you smile widening a little more.

She beams at you, and you know the follow-up question before she asks it.

“What do you want?”

Laughter bubbles out of Luka's mouth. “She's a little old for presents, Shiki.”

“Twenty-five is _not_ old!” you say, pretending to be offended. “And adults still get stuff for their birthdays, smartass.”

“It's a little early to ask though,” Evan says, grinning. 

“Ugh, guys; stop making me feel like I'm getting older,” you whine. “The only thing I want for my birthday is some candy and that vacation, though I doubt I'm gonna get either.”

“Speak of the devil,” Arturo finally says. You look at him when he stands up, going for his jacket. He pulls something wrapped in plastic out of a pocket and the crinkle of a wrapper makes you perk right up.

“No way! Are you serious, Arturo?!” You don't believe it, but he has candy. Not the shitty kind from the Bone Slums nearby, but legitimate _hard candies_.

“No joke. I left after dinner to go haggle with Teresa from the Striker crew; knew you'd want something a little sweet to make you feel better.” You hear the underlying meaning of his words but don't remark on them. He tosses a bag of the delicacies at you, and you catch them eagerly with your hands. 

“Oh my God! There's _everything_ in here!” You tear the plastic open and dump the contents out on the floor. Jolly Ranchers, Lemonheads, peppermints, and many other sweet, sweet candies. Even a lolipop or two.

Five other hands reach at the pile and you jealously sweep it all back for a moment. You wait and watch their faces darken before laughing and telling them to take a couple of pieces. Everyone has something to chose from.

“How much did you pay for this?” you ask Arturo. Candy is hard to come by in the Shatterdome, even though the food here is better than in other places. He rolls his eyes.

“Didn't pay with anything but my dignity. Teresa said I had to take her out on a date,” he groans. 

“Aww, how cute!” cackles Luka. Arturo glares at him and everyone else laughs.

_I wish you could be here too, Caleb. I wish you were here, and every day was like this, and nothing went wrong._

You unwrap a blue Jolly Rancher and pop it in your mouth, sucking on it throughfully.

Of course, something's bound to go wrong eventually; you are in the PPDC and Kaiju are still going to come out of the Breach whether you like it or not.

But right now you let yourself get caught up in a fantasy, wishing every day was like this and, underneath, dreading the moment that it all ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~OMG fluffy fluff fluff I'm so sorry~~


	4. Disarmed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels like I'm posting this really late because normally I do morning updates... Oh well. Hope this isn't too late for you guys!
> 
> Thank you for all the comments, kudos, and my first ever bookmark! I feel very confident about writing this thanks to you!
> 
> Don't own anything but my OC's. Not even you.

You last day of peace passes too quickly.

Before you know it, it's the morning of Becket's arrival. And you're up four hours too early.

The clock by your bed reads 2:06 AM. You grumble and turn over, wishing you could go back to sleep. It's a hopeless wish, because you never fall back asleep after waking up. 

Surprisingly, you slept without nightmares. But you also slept without dreams, and the silence bothers you almost as much as nightmares do. 

Four hours. The Marshall will be back in four hours. He left yesterday, and told you that he'd back with Becket by 6:00 AM, 6:30 at the latest. You won't meet him immediately; that will be Mako's job.

Mako seemed pretty happy to be the one leading the returning pilot around the Hong Kong Shatterdome. Your proximity to the Marshall ensured the two of you becoming good friends. Recently, though, you've seen less and less of her, as Gipsy Danger's restoration nears completion. 

She'd approached you yesterday and told you that she'd bring him to you around noon, before lunch. You'd promised her that you'd eat before meeting him, but now you're regretting that decision. For all you know you might puke up everything you ate from anxiety.

You have four hours to burn, but you aren't sure what to do with them. You kick off the blankets, get up and stretch a little bit, and then neatly make your bed. When it's made to your satisfaction, you head to take your (early) morning shower. 

Funny enough, you anxiety is already starting to seep into your head. You scrub your skin a little bit too roughly, turning it pink and tingly, and are careless with your shampoo, resulting in a little bit of the stuff getting to your eyes. You hiss and curse your lax of control.

Stay busy is your motif for today. An idle mind will be very unhelpful, so when you finish your shower and the subsequent after-shower routine, you switch on your television to keep your ears busy.

When it flashes on, you toss the remote and search for a Rubix cube, to keep your hands busy too. You must have at least seven, and each one varies in style, technique, and difficulty. You pull the toughest one—a monster for the brain to handle at two in the morning—and settle down on your bed, sitting with your legs crossed.

_“Recently, a riot broke out in Peru over the decommissioning of the Jaeger program. This is the eighth riot this month to make headlines; twenty-seven people were killed, civilians and police combined. It is believed that there were over a thousand people who approached the Peruvian ministry and called for the return of the Jaegers...”_

The news drawls on and you find yourself stuck on the cube. _No, I should have shifted this row right a few moves ago...what was the move I made after that?_

Frustrated, you put the cube down. You look at your stash of other cubes, but losing the feel of the first cube has taken the appeal out of them all. 

_Gotta be something else I can do_ , you think, gritting your teeth and frowning. _Oh!_

With the TV still going, you go over to your closet, remembering that you have laundry to do. You gather it up from the bottom drawer with one arm and open your door with the other; then you step out into the common room. 

It's silent here; everyone else is still sleeping, though you're surprised that your anxiety waves haven't woken Evan, Caterina, Luka, or Arturo. Well, it's better if they sleep. Doesn't help to have them bitchy in the morning.

You tread over to the closet doors that conceal the laundry machine; everyone in this prefecture of yours uses it daily, so you check to see if anyone's stuff is in it already. Thankfully, it's empty, and so you pour in detergent and dump your load of clothing in the machine, making a mental note to check back in an hour. 

Your hands itch for more activity. You quickly scan the room, looking for a reliever. Papers and various belongings of all the kids are strewn about on the table, floor, and couches. The desks against the walls are messy too, so your roll up your sleeves and get to work.

Shiki's designs get rolled up and placed in the bottom right drawer of her desk; her analysis of each one is tucked in a folder with the proper title. You clear the stuff on her desk too—pens, paper, notes and a hi-lighter go into the top drawer.

Luka's a messy little ass, you comment to yourself. He has _everything_ wherever it _doesn't_ belong. He even has a half-eaten bag of _Taki's_ on his desk and a nearly-empty glass of soda by his seat on the couch. _Where the hell did he even_ get _Taki's?_ You wonder, annoyed. Regardless, you clip the bag shut and put that in one of the drawers, and organize his paperwork, lamenting over the fact that it'll be all messed up after today again.

Contrary to Luka's tornado of crap, both Caterina and Arturo have very neat desks. All you really end up doing is adjusting the angle of their lights and checking their drawers for things that are out of place; you find next to nothing wrong.

Evan's desk is dusty and unused. You sigh sadly. He's growing up so well, you say to yourself. With all the time he spends away at LOCCENT, he really never comes back here to do anything but shower and sleep. He still spends time with all of you, but normally that's during the busy day, at lunch or dinner. It just means he's growing up, and you smile sadly. You can only hope he doesn't move out of the prefecture, because you'll miss him if he does; after all, he was the first of the six here that you picked up off the streets. 

You tidy up his desk, and the dust makes your eyes water. After you sneeze for the fourth time in a row, you curse loudly. “Damn allergies,” you mutter.

Brandon's desk is full of PPDC propaganda. He aspires to be a Jaeger pilot one day, if there are any by the time he's old enough. You grimace; that's really the last thing you want him to be, but there's no way you'd ever hold back one of the kids from their dreams. He has models of each of the Jaegers here in Hong Kong arranged on the desk and the surface is covered in pamphlets and leaflets about being a pilot and what it's about. He has much more stuff in the drawers; you don't bother trying to rearrange anything here, though. Brandon is fiercely protective of his belongings and doesn't like anyone—not even you—touching them.

You still have two hours to spare before you figure hell will break loose. It's 4:07 AM. Warm up time.

Every morning you start out by jogging around the halls of the Shatterdome; since most people are still asleep at four, the corridors are fairly clear. 

Grabbing your trusty IPhone 5—God, owning one of these makes me feel old—and stuffing a set of ear buds in your ears, you exit your shared compartments and weave you regular path through the Dome.

Your route takes you past the main part of the Shatterdome; the Jaeger docks, where Crimson Typhoon, Cherno Alpha, and Striker Eureka all rest. You slow your pace and eye the sleeping metal giants. Even though it's early, a few techs scramble over each one and sparks jump to life wherever a welding job needs to be done. The Conn Pods are all detached, so they all appear headless (except for Cherno).

There's only one Jaeger you don't see, one Jaeger that has yet to join these other three.

You don't want to look, but something in you pulls your legs to the dock that's tucked away from the others. 

And then you're there, standing in front of a nearly-complete Gipsy Danger. Of all the Jaegers here, this one has the most people already up and working on it. They hang from the metal workings in harnesses, already sealing metal to metal, taking apart and putting together pieces that fit. 

Gipsy's Conn Pod is attached, unlike the others. It stares menacingly down at you, and you shiver. Becket will be in that thing soon, very soon; the sight of the mech makes you feel bitter. You glare up at it with all the force you can muster. 

_I_ will _make it through this_ , you swear, as you stare up at it. _I won't lash out at him, regardless of how I feel. I will maintain control._

The light of a spark catches on the Conn Pod's visor and it glints at you, as if it's saying, _I'm going to hold you to it._

Then you jog off, feeling determined. You pass Tendo Choi, who is making his way to the same place you just stood, and bid him a good morning. He smiles at you and waves.

It's a short sprint back to you quarters. As you shut the door behind you, you look up at the clock across the room. 4:54 AM. Perfect timing.

You smile and stretch your arms. This is always your favorite part of the morning.

You trot over to the girls' room. You don't rap on the door, just throw it open and say loudly, “Up and at 'em, girls! Last hour of sanity for me today, best see me as I am now!” You strike a ridiculous pose in the doorway.

Shiki bolts upright and hustles out of bed. She's more of an early bird than Caterina, who mutters something rude and turns over. You smirk. “Shiki, toss me a pillow.”

“Oh, you're going to do that?” Shiki catches on to your antics. “Here.” 

You catch the pillow and fluff it in your hands. You aim it at Caterina, who's lying completely vulnerable on the top bunk. With a shout of “Heads up!” you hurl it, and it hits her head. 

“Hey!” 

You laugh. Shiki smiles widely. “I'm gonna go wake the dudes. Make yourselves look nice, today you're meeting an ex-Ranger.” They hear the dry tone in your voice, and grin just a little bit.

“Then you need to clean up too,” Caterina shoots back groggily.

“Well, excuse me,” you say. “Just get ready, sweetheart.”

You cross the commons room and bang on the boys' door. “You guys decent?” You always knock on their door before barging in.

When nobody answers, you open the door yourself. Four different snores float over to you. You sigh and pick up the megaphone from the dresser beside the door—you discovered long ago that using the horn worked best because Luka threw punches right before waking up and Evan jumps out of bed before you can react. Normally he isn't clothed in more than boxers and you refused to look at his naked torso; you will not be taken as a pervert, something you would get teased about if you aren't careful.

The horn works beautifully and you watch them fall out of their bunks. You bark out their morning routine and leave soon after. 

You wait in the commons for them to all finish. It's quiet again, and you feel a little anxious. The clock ticks away slowly, and you fidget. Before you'd kept yourself busy but now with nothing to do you feels antsy.

Sound from your room makes you perk up; the TV is still on. You go and switch it off; when you return to the commons, Shiki is settling down on the couch, straightening her shirt and smoothing out her pants.

“(Name),” she calls to you. “You need to redo your hair; it is falling out again.” She beckons you over. You self-consciously touch your hair. Is it that bad again?

“No, it is not bad. Just a little out of sorts.” She guesses right and you walk over, sitting next to her and letting her work magic on your hair.

Twenty minutes later you're all walking down to mess, ready to eat. Well, everyone but you. Even though you're with your kids, and surrounded by support and encouragement, you feel more nervous than ever. What if you do something stupid when you're with Becket? You might end up disappointing everyone, you swore two nights ago to them you'd compose yourself. Hell, you swore to Gipsy Danger this morning, too.

Breakfast passes quickly. Before you know it, you're traveling back to the Kwoon. When you get there, the Wei triplets are waiting for you, following the schedule you maintain regularly.

The clock reads 5:48 AM. 

You paste on a smile and say brightly, “Combat practice today, gentlemen! Have you warmed up yet?”

They nod, and you rub your hands together, assigning moves to each man. Your mind is still on the clock.

5:53.

Cheung Wei manages to take you off your feet, something that never happens. “Just distracted,” you say when he asks what's wrong.

5:57.

5:58.

You get knocked down again by a dual attack from Hu and Cheung. 

5:59.

You taste blood when one of the triplets lands a mock blow to your cheek. 

6:00.

Footsteps sound from down the hallway. 

A courier tells the triplets they're being summoned to the Shatterdome hangar. They look apologetically at you, but you wave it off. 

Of course. They're going to meet Becket too.

He must be here.

The clock reads 6:10.

You swallow deeply. I still have six hours until I see him, you remind yourself.

Six hours don't last long if you're dreading the thing six hours precede.

You eat lunch, but very little. A bite of bread, a spoonful of corn, and you can't take any more. Your students have all taken three hours off to watch as you meet Becket; hopefully they can help you keep your cool.

You trek up to the Kwoon, a nervous ball of tension. Arturo has his hand on your shoulder and Shiki is squeezing your hand gently, but neither presence helps you ease up.

The Kwoon is a little bit busy when you get there. Several of the trainees who hope to ride in Gipsy Danger with Becket are practicing, throwing kicks and punches at each other.

They sure as hell aren't your students; you only train the elite, and here, the elite are the Rangers themselves. The real ones, not the aspiring ones. 

Well, apart from your six favorites, but favorites don't count. They're not so much your students as they are your equals.

The trainees don't stop their sparring when you step onto the Kwoon floor, which is an insult to you. Trainees always stand to attention when a superior shows up. 

Again, _not_ your students.

You swallow nervously. “Well, if you're going to be with me might as well tune you up a bit,” you tell your group a little too brightly. “Come on.”

They mimic you as you pull off your boots and jacket. You stiffen when your feet touch the padded area of the floor. _Ugh. Get a hold of yourself._

“Weapon or no weapon?” You're referring to the bokken sticks lined up neatly on one side of the room. 

“No weapon,” decides Luka. “Makes us look better if we can kick your ass with our own hands.” _Oh, Luka. You know just how to make me feel better._ You allow yourself one tiny smile.

“Jesus, somebody's raring to beat me,” you reply. “Too bad it'll never happen.” You take a fighting stance. You force your legs into a sturdy position even though they protest and try to shake.

“Six on one? This doesn't seem fair for you,” Evan jokes. He knows you normally could probably take these same odds and win, but right now you're barely keeping your hands still. He's telling you not to humiliate yourself.

“Fine, then. I want...Caterina and Luka.” You put a hand on you hip. 

Luka groans, but he's smiling. “I have to be on your team?” You roll your eyes and tell him to knock it off, you're going to win.

You begin sparring tentatively, having to remind your hands and feet what they're supposed to do. _Punch. Block. Parry the attack. Punch again. Kick. Move back. Kick again._

It takes time, but you're able to fall into a regular rhythm, and soon your hands and feet can control themselves again. The uptight feeling you had is slowly fading away. 

Every one of your blows matches Luka's and Caterina's almost perfectly. And for every move you strike together, the other four block with equal intensity. No longer is this a spar between you and six other people, but a dance of precision and deadliness. You loose yourself in this waltz and let your mind flow with each hit, the tightness in your muscles fading as you face each student.

“Miss (Name)!” Pentecost's voice fills the Kwoon.

You're startled by his sudden appearance and end up punching Evan a little too hard in the face. _Shit, sorry!_ You mentally apologize.

 _S'okay,_ he mentally groans back. _Just...just make it look like you did that on purpose._

 _Oh._ You paste a grin on and shake out your hand. _Sure._

You give Evan a hand to help him up before turning to the Marshall's voice. Well, you pause before turning. Because you're aware of why he's there and who's with him.

“Marshall Pentecost,” you say. You close your eyes and prepare your mind. 

When you open them, you almost gasp.

After all the time you spent looking over Becket's files, you thought you would be prepared to see him in person. Cocky grin, glinting eyes and everything.

You aren't prepared at all. _He's right fucking there._ His face and hair and eyes are all the same as in his pictures. He's clad in a sweater and carrying around a gigantic backpack. His face is still gritty from working on the wall.

_Raleigh Becket._

Your hold on your self-control is slackening rapidly; _shit, shit, shit._ Even if you lose control, though, you aren't sure what emotion will take over: anger or confusion. Or both.

You will yourself to smile and say something. _Open your mouth and speak English, for Christ's sake!_

“Hey there,” you greet. “You're Mr. Becket, aren't you?”

You refuse to use his first name. 

The man in the middle gives you a worn smile. “Yes I am.” His slumped posture gives the impression that he is exhausted, but the light in his eyes say he's happier to be here— _back here_ —than anywhere else. And then it happens.

You bite your lip because you suddenly want to cry.

Already something is changing in you. When you first learned Raleigh Becket was coming back, you were filled with hatred and anger and a bitterness you couldn't get out of your mouth. You hated him for what he'd done, for making you lose the one thing more precious than anything in the world. 

You thought that, even after he'd lost his _own_ brother, he'd still be a cocky ass. And you were ready to still hate him for that.

Seeing this broken man in front of you makes you very unsure. You still feel very negatively towards him, deep down. But your hate, at seeing this defeated-looking man, loses most of its intensity. 

_Why?_

Because when you look in his eyes, for even the slightest second, you see yourself reflected there. Your emotion for a brother, your determination to forget and move on, but most of all _you see yourself, shattered and helpless as you try and understand why everything is happening the way it is._

Without your hate, you feel disarmed, vulnerable to attack, and it confuses you and makes you feel scared.

You feel sick, too.

The Marshall and Mako are waiting for you to reply, to say something. You compose yourself as best you can in a heartbeat and avert your eyes from his. You will look anywhere but his eyes because God knows you don't want him reading your heart in your eyes too.

_Say something!_

“Guess I'm you personal trainer for the next three months, then.” You need to pick a facade to hide behind. Play it cool, cocky, preppy, whatever. _I can play it cool._ “I'm (Name) (Last Name). Interesting...to finally meet you.” 

You break your regular tradition of shaking hands—you're not sure if shaking his hand will be too much for you—but instead bow slightly. Becket imitates your gesture after a moment's hesitation. You take note of this. He's paying you more respect than you had expected from him, too. _He's just full of surprises..._

“Nice to meet you too,” he says.

“I'll be assisting you in multiple aspects of your time here; basically, I'll control what you eat, how much you sleep, and reteach your muscles how to fight.” You crack a smile. _Good, show emotion._ Something in the Ranger's eyes changes when you make the simple gesture.

“Don't worry, though. I'll ease you back into the program; no use jumping the gun and throwing you right in, hm?” You tell your body to relax. Becket is obviously evaluating you right now, and you don't want to come off as rigid and sharp, but confident and at home where you work. Right now you're way too uptight. So you shift your weight to one leg and put your hand on your hip.

 _Doing good,_ says a voice in your head. You're touched by a gentle warmth in your mind, encouragement from Arturo making you feel just a tiny bit better. _Keep it up._

“You're right,” Becket agrees with your last comment. “I do feel a little...out of shape.” 

“We'll fix that,” you say, making your smile tilt into a smirk. “I'll see you tomorrow morning, oh-seven hundred hours sharp, Ranger.”

He nods and steps back between Mako and Pentecost. Pentecost tells him about you and your program, and points out your six students. You turn away from them and force yourself over to where your students wait for you. 

When you reach them, you almost collapse. You let your face fall and know that wild confusion is written all over it; the reactions on their faces tell you that much. 

“You did wonderfully,” breathes Shiki. “You can relax.”

“I'm not so sure,” you say, feeling dizzy.

“Well hey, you got through day one fine,” said Luka. 

“Day one of, like, three months,” you retort. “It's definitely not over.” You don't feel so good; the world isn't supposed to spin like that, right?

“Hey, you don't look too great,” says Evan carefully. He puts a hand on your shoulder, pushing through Shiki and Luka. “You okay in there?”

“I...I feel like I'm gonna puke...” You don't doubt it.

“Shit, seriously? Okay, man, let's get you to a bathroom.” He turns you around and guides you quickly out of the Kwoon with a hand on the small of your back. You're grateful, because you can barely walk straight. You can't even remember where the damn bathroom is.

The Marshall, Mako, and Becket are just leaving when you reach the exit. You know there are eyes on your back but you feel nauseous and awful and _oh God I think I'm really gonna hurl._

You think you're passed from Evan to Caterina, because Evan can't very well just follow you into the ladies restroom to help you throw up.

The next thing you know your head is over the toilet bowl and you're throwing up stuff you didn't know was in you. 

_Damn Becket, getting me worked up like this. I can only handle so much shit, and now—_ You stop because you throw up again.

“It's okay,” Caterina pats your back encouragingly “It will be better tomorrow.”

 _No_ , you think. _No, it won't be._

Then you gag again and lose that thought.

 _Well, at least I didn't blow up at him or anything...I kept my promises,_ you think begrudgingly, because Caterina is scolding you for thinking so negatively.


	5. Confused

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for posting this late ;-; I had more than a few unexpected events turn up out of nowhere while this thing sat on my computer waiting for me to upload!!!
> 
> I hope you all like it, I'm working as hard as I can to clean up the next few chapters!!!
> 
> EDIT: I'm going to have a little contest for my OC's! I would like to write a oneshot for one OC about his or her past; just one! If you guys want this, then leave a comment and tell me which OC you'd like to know more about! 
> 
> I'll leave this little voting contest up for the next four chapters, with a reminder on each one I put up until then. Please vote; your input means a lot to me! :)

“One week and two days later, and I still feel as awful as the first day,” you say aloud, typing out a log on your laptop.

You duck beneath the pillow that comes sailing at your face. “Lighten up, (Name), at least you aren't puking your guts out every day anymore.” You glare at Luka.

“We will never speak of those three days again,” you say darkly. Luka just falls to the floor laughing. You pick up the pillow he just threw at you and throw it in his general direction. “Next time, if you're actually _trying_ to hit me make sure you don't make any noise.”

“C'mon, admit it. At least you can talk to Becket without slapping him now.”

“I never did slap him, idiot.”

“Yeah, well, we all knew you wanted to.”

You sigh gracefully. “I swear, if somebody walked in just now they'd probably report us for sexual language. Context, my boy, is just as important as content.”

“Never said anything 'bout screwing Becket; you didn't have to go and make it sexual.” Luka's head pops over the couch.

“Would you just shut up and let me work?” you say, face turning red. “And don't ever say that again.”

“Whatever” is his reply. 

You're typing out your assessment of Becket from the last week on one of the commons couches, decked out in a tank top and sweatpants. Albeit, it isn't a very _good_ assessment since you could barely stand in front of him for the first days, but you've made up for it and the paper should turn out decent.

You still try to avoid him as much as possible. It doesn't help that your hatred has been replaced by insecurity, fear, nervousness, and a ton of other negative things. He's kind enough to you, but you can never find yourself reciprocating the kindness. Just a stiff presence you maintain in front of him at all times. 

With you grudge towards him losing its anger, you're more scared than ever of being hurt by this man.

Hurt _again_ , actually.

Becket sits at Striker Eureka's table, because there's no other tables he feels comfortable at. You'd be perfectly fine with this—after all, where he sits doesn't matter to you—but you get shit about it from Chuck, who complains quite _loudly_ during training. More than once you've raised the difficulty of his spar matches to get him to shut up.

When you've finished typing out the paper, you save it to a flash drive and close your laptop with a sigh. Then you get up and try to find some boots, flash drive in hand.

“Luka, where are my shoes?” you call to the only other person in the prefecture. 

“I think Caterina took 'em. She is the same shoe size as you, after all.”

“God dammit. I'm not walking all the way up to LOCCENT just to have these papers checked barefoot.”

“Well, I sure as hell am not gonna do it for you, before you ask,” Luka snickers.

“You're so mean,” you complain. “Fine. I'll just take some of her shoes then. See how she likes it.”

You slip into the girls' room and over to Caterina's locker. You open it and go for her regular boots, but stop when you see them.

Her UGG boots...

After a moment's hesitation you snatch them up and stuff your feet inside them. You smile when you feel how comfortable they are. You close the locker and leave the girls' room.

“I'm off to LOCCENT to have these files checked. I'll see you in thirty for dinner.”

“Okay,” Luka calls back. “Have fun.”

“Sure thing,” you reply dryly. Then you leave the room, humming to yourself about what your exercise plan for tomorrow is. 

LOCCENT is about a five minute walk from your prefecture, including the elevator ride up. You pass most of the Rangers' quarters on your way there, all except for Becket's room. His is more towards the Marshall's office, but in the opposite direction from yours, thankfully. 

Unfortunately, his room is right across from Mako's, so you can't go talk with the Japanese girl without feeling a bit put-off.

LOCCENT's relatively quiet when you get there. Evan, naturally, is conversing with Tendo Choi at his seat near the giant windows that overlook the hangar. He spots you coming in and waves you over.

“Yo,” he says when you're within earshot. 

“Hey there,” you say brightly. “How's it going?”

“Just fine,” Evan beams.

“Good. He isn't being a pain, right Tendo?” You playfully punch Evan's arm. “I know when I was still raising him he definitely was.”

“You aren't that much older than me, don't pretend you're my mother,” grumbles Evan, though he's smiling widely. 

“She sure was like it, if I recall correctly,” shoots Tendo. “And no, he's a pleasure to have here, (Name). What brings you here today?”

“I have Becket's assessment here with me,” you say, holding up the flash drive. “I'd like this reviewed, recorded, and printed on his dossier so I can have it physically and digitally.”

“You got it,” says Tendo. He takes the drive. “I'll see you around; Evan will deliver it to your rooms after dinner.” 

“He's not coming to eat tonight?” You place a hand on your hip. “How come?”

“We're doing another run tonight, with Crimson Typhoon. Evan here—“ Tendo pats the boy's back “--was selected to help oversee the operation.”

“Oh, wow!” You tear up a little. “You're all grown up now, Evan.” You hold open your arms and he comes to embrace you. _God, he's even taller than me now._ You stand on the tips of your toes and kiss his forehead. “Make me proud.” 

“I will,” he says, smiling sadly. Because he really does see you as more of a mother than his real one ever was, even though you're only six years older than him, and he does want to make you proud. “Love you, mom.”

“You know I love you too,” you say, punching his chest lightly. “Have fun.”

You part ways after that, with you heading down to mess and Evan accompanying Tendo to who-knows-where. 

Interestingly enough, the halls are relatively empty. You abruptly round a corner and smack into another person. 

“Ow!” You land on your tailbone, which does not exactly react well to hitting concrete. “Argh...”

“Ugh...” Another voice moans not too far away from you. You involuntarily flinch at it, because if you're hearing right, then that voice belongs to...

“Oh, (Name). Sorry; I didn't see you there.” A scuffle of feet as he tries to stand up. “Here, let me give you a hand.” And Raleigh Becket is holding his hand down for you to take.

You don't meet his gaze, but you take his hand. It would be impolite to refuse, though your skin tingles where he touches it; as soon as you're on your feet you let go, and your hand travels to your back to rub your tailbone. “Thanks,” you mumble. 

“Are you hurt?” The concern in his voice isn't false.

“I..I don't think so. Just got my tailbone, I guess. I should be fine...” You try to walk around, but your tailbone decides it's not done hurting, so your walking is really more like limping.

“Somehow, I don't think you're fine,” Becket says, chuckling. “Where are you off to?”

You bite your lip; from pain or from reluctance to answer, you don't know. “...I was going to mess,” you respond. “My kids are waiting for me...”

Becket nods. “Sounds right; mess is in that general direction. Want some help getting there?”

Your eyes widen. “Oh, no, I'll be okay,” you say quickly. “I can get there myself—“

As you try to limp away your tailbone screams in protest. You steady yourself against the wall for support.

“You sure about that?”

You grimace. Becket taking you to dinner is the last thing you want right now, but your rear is not permitting a trip without aid. “I...okay, fine. Can you help me?”

He smiles. “Of course.”

You expect him to help you walk there, with you hobbling on both legs the whole way while he lends support. Instead, he sweeps you off your feet and picks you up in his arms. You squeak in surprise, immediately throwing your arms around his neck because you aren't ready to look down and see the ground without being _on_ it.

Becket laughs again. “You okay there?” He begins walking towards your destination.

Your face turns red. “I—I'm sorry!” You take your arms off his neck. “You—you don't have to carry me all the way there! I'll be okay, really!” _Awkward awkward awkward!_ You feel very unwilling to be in his arms.

“With a bruised tailbone?” he inquires. “I doubt it. Don't worry, mess isn't that far away and you aren't that heavy.” 

“But—but this is so inconsiderate of me!” you stutter. 

“Not if it'll be painful for you to walk there on your own,” he shoots back. That shuts you up and you can only purse your lips in response. 

After some thought, you speak again. “How can I make it up to you?”

Becket stops and looks at you. “Make it up to me?”

“Yes. I owe you for taking me around. What do you want in return?”

“Oh, no, you don't owe me,” he protests. “I'm not particular about having favors returned...”

“Please, Mr. Becket. It'd make me feel better,” you say. 

He continues walking, but more slowly. You bounce a little with every step he takes. 

“Well, for starters, you could start calling me 'Raleigh' instead of Mr. Becket.” He smiles a little. “It feels like you're Pentecost, calling me by last name all the time.”

You open you mouth to protest, but then you realize that you haven't said his first name once in the week and two days you've known him. And there's really no warrant for you to call him like that; it's just your own personal choice to call him Mr. Becket.

Of course, your reasons behind calling him this are private, and you're not ready to spill your life story to him as he carries you to mess just to explain why you won't call him by first name.

So reluctantly, you say, “Alright...Raleigh.”

His name tastes so very strange on your tongue. 

“What else? You sound like you want a little more.” You furrow your brow. “I don't do sexual favors, if that's what you're thinking.”

Becket—Raleigh!—looks at you funny. “I wasn't. I was going to ask you to answer a couple of questions I have.”

“Questions?” This request takes you by surprise. “What kind of questions?”

“About you, mostly.”

“Oh.” You feel your face turn red. “Why me? I'm not really that interesting.”

“Sure you are,” Raleigh says. “I just want to know a little bit about you. You haven't said anything about yourself so far, but you know all about me.”

 _And I haven't said anything for good reason,_ you want to snap. Instead, you say, “Um, okay. Well, you can come sit at our table, so we can talk...” You regret saying that almost instantly.

But Raleigh beams at you. “Really?” he asks. 

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “...yeah.”

“Thanks.”

And the two of you continue the trip to mess in silence.

When you reach the hall, it's busy. Most of the techs are turning in for the day, so they're all chatting over their food about today's work. 

When you appear at the steps to the hall in Raleigh's arms, most people stop talking and turn to look at you. You know you're blushing, and bow your head as you pass each table.

Chuck's snicker isn't quiet enough for you to ignore, though, so you look up and glare at him when you walk by.

Raleigh puts you down gently on the bench at your table, much to the surprise of your students. They gape first at him, and then at you.

_What the fuck is he doing here?_

Luka. Of course. _Rude bastard..._

_I heard that!_

“Mr. Beck—er, Raleigh brought me here to mess 'cause I bruised my tailbone on the way,” you explain. 

They gape even more when you say his name.

_Could you all quit?!_

_I thought you didn't like him._ Caterina's voice is accusing.

_Yeah, well, I have my reasons for bringing him here. I'll explain later. Shut up and stop giving me weird looks._

This all happens in a heartbeat, so (hopefully) Raleigh doesn't catch on. 

He waves a hand at the kids. “Hey,” he greets.

Your students, bless them, realize something's going on, and put their acting to work. “Hello!” says Caterina brightly.

“I don't think I've introduced my kids,” you tell Raleigh. “Um, that's Caterina, the one who just waved; that's Shiki, the little Japanese girl; Luka's the one stabbing his meat right now; Arturo is the quiet one at the end, and Brandon's the youngest boy.” You point at each one at you go. “Evan's not eating here tonight. He's working up at LOCCENT again.”

“They work him too hard,” Shiki comments, wrinkling up her nose. “He needs a break.”

“That's what happens when you work,” you say sadly. “Sucks to see him miss out so often, but hey, you guys will all be working here someday.” You straighten up, though it hurts your tailbone.

They nod, and go back to eating and their conversation.

“Quirky kids, aren't they?” you say.

“They seem pretty nice,” Raleigh says. He looks down at you. “Want me to grab you something to eat?”

“Uh, sure. I'd like potatoes and beef. And corn, too.” If he's offering to get your meal, why not make sure it's a good one he brings back?

He nods and walks off. You don't have to wait long after that, because he comes back not five minutes later with a tray in both hands.

“That was quick,” you say. “The line doesn't normally move so fast, especially at this time of day.”

Raleigh rolls his eyes. “Somebody called me out on treating you to dinner, so they shoved me to the front and gave me the food first.”

You grimace. “People,” you mutter. Raleigh shrugs, and hands you your tray. “Thanks.”

Both of you dig into your food before beginning to talk. 

“So, what questions do you have for me, Ranger?”

Raleigh chews thoughtfully before he answers. “How long have you been in the PPDC?”

 _Since my brother was killed._ “Six years.” 

He nods. “So you've been in the force for a while. You must know the people around here pretty well, huh?”

“Mostly the higher-ups; everybody else comes and goes too quickly for me to get to know.”

“Where are you from?”

“San Diego, California.”

There's a long silence as both of you take bites off of your forks.

“Nice place, isn't it?”

“Yeah. Well, it was.”

“What makes you say that?” 

“Kaiju don't exactly leave cities in prime condition, you know.”

“Mhm,” Raleigh says. You continue to eat.

It's a while before he asks something again. “How old were you when K-Day happened?”

You smile dryly. “Is that an indirect way of asking how old I am?”

He raises his eyebrows. “Take it as you want.”

“I was thirteen,” you tell him. “I remember waking up and turning on the news to see all the shit happening up in San Fran.”

Raleigh doesn't say anything, just chews on a piece of beef while he thinks up another question.

“How long have you been training us Rangers?”

“Four years, give or take. It's not very long, but I got into the PPDC relatively quickly, and I worked my way up from nothing to where I am now easily. Not many people apply to train Rangers.”

“Really? You must be a higher-up yourself. Where'd you pick up the kids, then?”

You laugh a little. “Which one?”

“All of 'em, I guess.” 

“I found them all over the place,” you admit. “Some of them were born on the street, lived tough lives even before the Kaiju; the others lost their families to them.” You glance swiftly down the table, to see if any of the kids over heard, but none of them seem to have been paying attention.

Raleigh catches your glance. “They all have troubled pasts?”

“Troubled enough,” you murmur. 

“What about you? Do you have any family?”

The questions catches you off-guard. You drop you fork and it clinks against your tray. The other five heads at the table turn to you.

“I have all my family right here,” you mutter. “All except my brother.”

Raleigh doesn't ask anything more. You aren't sure whether he understood the true meaning of your statement or just thinks you're talking about Evan.

You finish your food and get up to leave. 

“Wait, I'm not sure you should—“

“I'm fine,” you say sharply, cutting Raleigh off. “I can walk back on my own.” He'd stood up to help you, but now he backs down. You wince a little, regretting the harshness in your voice. “Sorry, but I can handle myself.”

With those words you limp away from the table, trying to carve the most discreet path possible out of mess. 

_So foolish, so foolish of me to let my guard down!_

Only when you're in a deserted hallway do you succumb to your tears.

Back at the table, the kids stare at your tray of food. 

It's the first time you've finished a meal since this Raleigh business started.


	6. Befriended

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the lateness of this chapter! School...happened, I guess.
> 
> Make sure you leave a comment about who you'd like to know more about!
> 
> This chapter has suggestive themes at the beginning, though I can assure they're harmless and meant to be nothing more than entertaining. ;)
> 
> ~~also not sorry for getting your hopes up if I did~~

Your bodies are flushed red. Sweat drips down off your faces onto the floor. 

You're panting, but you're determined to hold out longer than Raleigh. 

Your arms are straining to keep their hold. You look into his eyes and know he's close, too.

You let out a cry of frustration, because you can only go for a few more seconds and it's killing you. You want to win so badly but the pleasure of going first is so tempting—

“Shit!” He falls first, dropping from the hanging acrobatic rings to the Kwoon floor.

“Argh!” You tumble down after him. You roll on the ground for a few moments, writhing in agony. “Ow! My arms are _dead_ , I swear to God!”

“Two minutes and twenty-seven seconds!” says Caterina, hitting the stop button on the timer. “(Name) wins!”

“Dammit,” breathes Raleigh. He slams his fist against the floor. “I was...so close.”

“That's because...I'm better,” you say, but your arms are yelling at you, saying _What the fuck, (Name). That hurt._ You moan again and roll around some more, trying to get your arms to feel normal again.

Caterina walks over and kneels beside you. “Will you be able to use your arms?”

You try to lift them up but they just flop back down onto the ground. “...nope.”

She sighs. “I guess this means the rest of today's session is canceled.”

You do your best to shrug. “Endurance testing,” you remind her, “is always better when it's a competition.”

Raleigh laughs from beside you. “Yep.”

“Nobody competes better than Luka, though,” Caterina jokes. “He'd go through hell and back to beat you.”

“Precisely why I never challenge him to things he might win at,” you counter. You turn over onto your side. “Are you okay, Raleigh?”

“Fine,” he huffs. “Just fine. What did you say about canceling the rest of the session?”

“Just that. I don't think that you or I will be able to even hold a fork at dinner tonight if we don't rest,” you say. “I had to pry my fingers out of their grasp, I was holding on that tight.”

“I think there is mutual agreement that you should rest,” interjects Caterina.

You look up at her, one eyebrow raised.

“But you must finish the flexibility testing,” she finishes.

“Flexibility?” You pause for a moment. “Oh, right.”

“What's this about flexibility?” Raleigh inquires. 

“Sorry, I forgot to mention it before we had our contest,” you say. You manage somehow to sit up and roll your shoulders to relieve tension. “I was going to test your flexibility. Obviously I can't test your upper body flexibility right now, so I guess we'll deal with your lower body.”

He gets up into a sitting position too. “And how do we do that?”

“Easy. Butterfly stretch.” You form the stretch with your legs, which lay flat on the ground from years and years of stretching. “If you aren't flexible enough we'll put you through a few exercises to fix that.” You look at him. “Now stretch.”

Raleigh looks skeptically at you before complying, falling into the same stretch you're in. You scrutinize his legs and pull yourself over to him. 

“Could be a little more flexible,” you comment. Just to be sure, you push his both his knees all the way down to the ground, even though your sore arms protest. “Does this hurt?”

He grits his teeth. “A little, yeah.”

“Hm. Guess we'll go with the yoga strap. Caterina?” The girl nods and gets up to go fetch the object.

“Yoga strap?” Raleigh asks. 

“Sort of like a fabric belt. I'm going to put you through some exercises with it to loosen your groin muscles, awkward as that sounds. I don't want any of your muscles being too tight.” You look down. 

Raleigh says nothing, and you both sit there, waiting for Caterina. The atmosphere is uncomfortable, and you shift around to shake the feeling.

She comes back with a black length of fabric in her hand. “Here,” she says. “I hope it's long enough. It was the longest one I could find.”

“Oh, no, this will be fine,” you say, rolling out the strap. “Okay, Raleigh, watch closely.” You demonstrate how to use the strap, wrapping it around your back and between your legs, with the belt loop sitting at your hip. You lie back against the floor and pull the excess strap as hard as you can, which isn't very hard since your arms now refuse to listen. 

The strap doesn't make you feel any strong stretch, because you're already very flexible and pretty much stretched out to the max. But you know it will help Raleigh, and that's why you chose it.

“Alright, let me see you use it,” you say, untangling yourself from the belt and tossing it at him. He catches it and, following your instructions, pulls the belt around himself and into the right position, lying down. He pulls excess as best he can but it's not hard enough, so you craw over and take hold of it with him. 

“Here,” you say. You place your hand on his and help him pull. “Oh, hold on, you're arching your back. Relax,” you tell him, gently pressing your palm down on his abdomen. You watch to make sure he stops. 

Your eyes meet his for a moment and the world seems to freeze for a heartbeat. Then you come back to reality and realize your hand is still lingering on his body. “Oh. I'm sorry,” you apologize quickly, flushing a little.

“It's fine,” he says. “How long do I stay like this?” 

“Two or three minutes at a time, maybe.” It's a moment before you add, “You can stop, I just wanted to see how this worked for you.”

He wrestles his way out of the strap and gathers it up in sitting position. 

“Keep the strap,” you tell him. “Use it in your spare time, or whatever. Just make sure you get a little more flexible.”

Raleigh nods and stands up. He extends a hand to you and you take it; he pulls you up with him. 

If your arm is screaming from that, then you can only imagine what his is feeling like. “Rest up,” you say. “If you're feeling anything like me then you need it.” You get a smile from him and return it with one of your own.

“I'll see you at dinner?”

“Mhm. I'll handle food tonight.”

“Sure. See you later.”

And then Raleigh heads out of the Kwoon, grabbing his boots on the way out. You sigh and go to grab your boots. 

“What am I supposed to tell Hansen, Caterina?” you mumble. “I can't work anymore like this.” Hansen will run his mouth at you for canceling if you have to, and you will either then have to listen to his shit or punch him to shut him up.

“I can train him for you,” she says. “I will take over for the rest of the day if you want. You've taught me well enough.” She looks at you hopefully and you grin at her.

“Yes, please. I do want a break. I should've known challenging Raleigh would end badly.” You begin tying your shoe laces, your hands stiff and sore.

“You've changed,” Caterina comments. 

“Huh?” You raise your head from the ground and fix her with a stare. “What do you mean?”

“You call him Raleigh now,” she points out. “And you are not hesitant to touch him anymore.”

The way she says it makes heat rise to your cheeks. “S-so? I'm his trainer. I should be able to do those things...” 

“But you used to refuse even laying a finger on him,” she says. “He eats lunch and dinner with us every night now too. You _talk_ to him normally.”

“Your point is?”

“You've gotten comfortable around him,” Caterina concludes. “It's nice, you know. You used to be full of so much hate for him it made you sick.”

“Caterina!” you hiss. You swing your head around and make sure nobody else is there listening. Raleigh is long gone by now, but you still feel suspicious someone might be there.

“We're alone, don't worry,” she says. She sits down next to you. “I'm trying to say that maybe you could be friends. He is a very nice man to you and you seem to have forgiven for deeds done in the past.”

You stiffen. 

“My forgiveness is yet to be had,” you mutter. “Don't decide things for me.”

Caterina looks at you and sighs. “Face it, (Name). You do not hate him as much as you used to; you seem to _like_ being around him.”

“I...” you falter when you try to contradict her. “I guess I've lightened up a bit around him, yeah. But that's as far as it extends. I haven't forgiven anything—“ you're careful with your words; you can't shake the feeling you're being watched “—just yet.”

Caterina shakes her head. “I hope you do, (Name). I wish you could see past what anger is left in your heart. If you could just—”

“Caterina...”

“—give him a chance to be different than what you thought he was,” she pleads.

“This conversation is over,” you say, louder this time. “We'll see what happens. In the meantime, Ranger _Becket_ and I remain where we are in our acquaintance.” You finish tying up your boots and leave for your room.

You grumble all the way to your room, muttering about how you've gone soft. Caterina really got to you, and you don't like it. She was right; too right. You _have_ gotten too comfortable around Ra-Becket. _Well, shit._ The fact that you don't know what to call him makes you want to laugh bitterly. 

Should you still be calling him Becket? Deep down, you know you're still uncomfortable about the fact that he had a hand in Caleb's death.

But still. Over the two and a half weeks he's been here now, you feel like something has started to develop between you two. Caterina had said that maybe the two of you could be friends. Is it a friendship forming in you? Your life has been strictly divided between three classes of people: family, people you work with, and enemies. The closest thing you have to a friend is Mako, but she's a friend-sister figure, so you don't know how to count her.

Otherwise, you realize you're severely lacking in the _real friends_ department. Sure, you're friendly with Tendo, but he's a superior to you; you might be close to your students, but they're your adopted family. The Rangers vary from acquaintance to enemy (Chuck) and your other superiors go from Pentecost to Herc Hansen.

Raleigh Becket might just be your first friend.

You chew on the inside of your lip, trying to shove the 'friendship' business out of your mind. _Friendships are confusing,_ you think. Not even when you were a little girl did you have friends. _Probably because mom was a psycho who beat us;_ she _was the reason I took Caleb and ran._

Upon reaching your room, you decide your arms hurt too much to ignore for much longer. You take a painkiller from your medicine cabinet and return to the commons to sit and stare at the ceiling. Now is one of the few times of the day where nobody is in the prefecture. 

Since you have nothing to do for the rest of the day, you decide you're going to sleep. You find a comfortable spot on a couch and rest your head against one of the pillows before closing your eyes.

_It's sunny today. I wonder if we'll find a good place to stay for the next few days. We're running low on food. Haven't washed up in a few days._

_“(Name), what will we do today?”_

_Oh, Caleb. I wish I knew._

_“I think...I think we'll play a little today. How would you like that?” The meadow we're staying in should be fine, right? I'll be able to see if anyone or anything is coming after us._

_Besides, I need to keep Caleb in good spirits._

_“Oh, yeah! Yeah! Let's play!” Eight-year-old Caleb is so sweet. “What do you want to play? You can pick our game!”_

_“Let's play...hm...let's play tag! But stay in the meadow, okay? I need to be able to see you so we don't get split up.” I drop the pack carrying our very few supplies onto the grassy ground._

_“Will do, big sis!”_

_We play and play and play until noon has passed and afternoon is creeping upon the sky. I sit down, tired. Caleb laughs and falls down next to me, putting his head in my lap._

_“That was fun!” he says. “What will we play next?”_

_I laugh. “We've played enough for today, Caleb. Let's find a place to stay before playing again.”_

_He pouts, but nods. “Okay.” He wrinkles his nose when he looks at my face. “Your face is dirty, sis.”_

_It is, isn't it? I touch a hand to my face. “Yeah, I know. Yours is too. We'll find shelter and then wash up. Kay?”_

_“Kay!”_

You wake up, startled. The pillow is no longer beneath your head; instead you're resting it on your arm. You feel cold and clammy, but inside you feel warm and content.

With a gasp of air, you sit up and run a hand through your hair. It's been years since you dreamed about your adventures with Caleb in the wilderness. Perhaps—no, this is certainly due to your thought on friendships earlier. Maybe your heart is trying to ease you away from the confusion to give you peace of mind. 

It worked. A little bit, anyways,

It's dinner time, so you go into your room and shrug on a jacket lined with soft fleece, to drive away the clammy feeling your skin has and preserve the warmth within you. You take Caterina's UGG boots again—you still haven't given them back—and trudge off to mess.

Raleigh is waiting for you at the table, along with all six of your students/family. You smile warmly, greeting them before taking your seat.

“Oh, you already got me some food?” There's a tray where you normally sit. Raleigh smiles.

“I got here early, I figured I should take advantage of the short line and got stuff for us both.” He hands you a fork. 

“Thanks,” you say. Then your meal begins, and you begin your regular chatter with Raleigh and the kids.

There's many a funny story tonight. You listen to Luka as he complains about getting into an argument with a tech about the alignment of certain parts in Crimson Typhoon, one which he ultimately won—“I was so going to win from the start.” You offer advice to Shiki, who's been talking to Striker Eureka techs about becoming one of them: “Take it one step at a time and don't _drown_ the poor guys in questions.” You laugh when Caterina tells you how she's _certain_ that Chuck Hansen was trying to hit on her when she took over his training; “He's blind if he thinks I've got an eye for him,” she says.

It's a pleasant dinner. For now, you bask in the glow of family, and feel pleased when Raleigh is included. _Friends. Maybe we are friends._

You stay late in mess, right up until Luka starts snoring on the table. Raleigh bids you and your students goodnight, and you tell him to sleep well since he's got nothing to do tomorrow, at least from you.

You part ways and help Arturo drag Luka through the halls to the prefecture; when you arrive you toss him in his bunk and send everyone else to bed. 

In the vicinity of your room, you strip down to a tank top and change into sweatpants, undo your hair and brush your teeth. Then you slide beneath your blankets and drift off into sleep.

When you're shaken awake, you aren't sure how long you've been asleep or what time it is. All you know is Brandon is grabbing your arm tightly, and he looks panicked.

“Brandon?” you whisper. “What's wrong, honey?” You sit straight up and push back your covers.

“(Name), I had a nightmare about Sydney,” he whimpers. You're awake now, and see he has tears in his eyes and on his cheeks. “I lost mum and dad again and I was so scared—“

“Shh, baby, it's okay,” you tell him, taking hold of one of his hands in both of yours. “It was just a dream.”

“I know, but it felt so real! And that wasn't all of it either; you were there too but you got killed and I was so lost! Everyone was dying and then the Kaiju starting running at me and I couldn't move and—and then I woke up...”

“Oh, Brandon,” you whisper. “Come here.” You pat your lap and he crawls right onto your bed into your arms. “Do you need to be held?”

_Caleb?_

He'd never say it aloud, you know, but he's so shaken right now he craves a mother's touch from anyone who will take the fear away. You know how he feels, and so you grasp him tightly, kissing the top of his head and shushing his whimpers softly. 

_Caleb..._

“Do you want to sleep here tonight?” you ask him. He nods and you lay him down on the bed, tucking him beneath your blankets. When he's comfortable, you lie down on top of the blankets next to him. 

This is not the first time he's come to you after nightmares; in fact, he's not the only one who has come to you like this at all. So you had a full bed—not a king- or queen-sized, just a full—installed to make sure there was always room for them.

You hold Brandon in your arms until he's asleep, because even though he's fourteen and trying to be grown up, nightmares of the Kaiju can turn full-grown men into little boys, afraid of the monster under the bed again. Only when his breathing is eased and his muscles have relaxed do you let tears fall.

_Brandon is not a replacement for Caleb,_ you scold yourself. _He is his own person and you will love him because he is him, not because he's a shadow of your brother._

You fall into an empty sleep, which seems to last forever.


End file.
